Getting There
Three weeks ago I had a suitcase packed full of German goodies along with an unnecessary amount of colourful jumpers as I prepared to make the long journey to Hong Kong. Here I was ready to take a two and a half week break from my year abroad to visit Natalie and experience the Far East for the first time.
Gerhard kindly drove me to Blankenburg station and I was set to embark on a 21 hour journey to reach my destination. There were of course no problems during the German section of my trip – all the trains were on time and the smoothness at which I went from the station to the plane at Hanover airport was unprecedented, for me at least.
As soon as I touched down at Charles de Gaulle, however, things started to unravel. I had never completed an airport transfer alone so was already a bit nervous. All the other passengers headed straight for arrivals as I was left staring at a sign in French explaining something about the bus that was to take me to the terminal I needed.
After much cursing the fact that there wasn’t an English translation and that the only French I could remember was that swimming pool was ‘La Piscine’ (as you “piss-in” the pool) I took the decision to go it on foot. This was a minor disaster as I ended up getting lost in the ridiculously spread out airport. After ignoring the advances of a man who offered me a seat in his taxi, I suddenly found myself staring at France. No border control, no fence, just the open road. It seems the French are accustomed to just letting arrivals from Germany stroll into their country at will and I began daydreaming about running off into the landscape before me. I could run a dairy farm like in Inglorious Basterds (without the horrific massacre, of course), I thought; or become a monk! Obviously I stopped this stupid game immediately and desperately searched for help which arrived in the form of a creepy female bus driver. We engaged in a weird game of charades which somehow worked as I was dropped off at the exact gate I wanted, noticing the hoards of Chinese men and women.
On the plane, things didn’t really improve. I was originally sitting next to sweet-smelling-Su, the Cantonese interpreter, but she left me for no apparent reason and suddenly turned into a tiny man who smelt of cabbage. Captain Pierre then proceeded to inform us that an engine wasn’t working and that we weren’t allowed to fly as such. An hour and a half later and the engineers had allegedly solved the problem – we were up and running. It’s fair to say I wasn’t feeling entirely safe given the carelessness I’d seen earlier and when Su translated the message, the cabbage man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
The engineers didn’t let us down, however, as we arrived safely in Hong Kong just under an hour late. I immediately noticed how low the ceilings were and that everyone had an obsession with hand rails. A woman was screaming over the tannoy that you must ‘always hold the hand rail!’ (which was disinfected hourly – they are also rather paranoid). Coming from Germany, aggressive commands no longer faze me but I obeyed the lady in the sky for fear of being sent to a Communist prison camp before I’d even met up with Nat.
After nine weeks apart, I imagined it could be quite odd seeing Natalie again. However, aside from the sheer disbelief from both of us that the other one was actually there (which was ridiculous as we were both quite clearly, physically together) things soon settled into normality.
It was so, so good to see her.
We hopped on a nicely air-conditioned bus, still amazed at each other’s presence as Natalie began nibbling at my sandwich, so glad to have some meat that wasn’t mixed with noodles or soup. I’d already seen more people since my arrival than the entire time I’d been in Blankenburg and as we drove towards Mong Kok, it dawned on me how truly different the place is to my little mountain town. Getting off the bus I was hit by warmth I hadn’t felt for weeks along with a sea of tiny people all rushing around, distracted by their incredibly new, slick phones. We eventually found our hostel for the next seventeen nights, via a random electronics store that shared the address, and it’s fair to say we were a little taken aback.
The room we had been assigned was on the fourteenth floor of this hideous tower block and was literally 8 x 10 feet. Furthermore, it didn’t have a window. A tiny, hot box with a distinct lack of window. Natalie just about avoided a break down as we spent the next 20 minutes negotiating with the owner about a room change whilst making it clear that accommodation of that design should be illegal. Eventually we settled on a small increase in price for a slightly bigger room (that was meant to hold three people!) with a window. The shower-toilet ‘en suite’ complex, where you had to use the toilet at a right angle, remained, but we agreed it would do.
Food and Drink
This was the area I had most feared before coming to Hong Kong. It’s not mainland China so were not talking scorpions on sticks or deep fried chicken’s eyes but they do seem to have an unexplained love for octopus, jellyfish and other weird stuff from the sea which you’re clearly not meant to eat. The main reason for my fear however lay with the fact that the people of Hong Kong love to cook a large chunk of their food in peanut oil. As someone with a severe peanut allergy, this poses a bit of a problem.
I actually managed to do okay, only suffering two semi-major reactions in the course of my stay. One of these occurred from the first thing I ate, a few vegetable dumplings that were heartbreakingly delicious. In a bid to fully immerse myself in Eastern culture, I had decided to embrace the unusual food types and Natalie had even prepared a sheet of paper with Cantonese translations explaining my allergy. However, after two near misses it became clear that even this was not enough and I found myself sticking to predominantly Western food.
In terms of fast food, it is incredibly cheap over there. You can pick up a Big Mac meal for around £1.50 and finish it off with a 40p sundae. In the case of the sundae, I experienced my only taste of hilarious Chinese disbelief. After asking for a chocolate sundae without the nuts, the server looked at me like I’d wished shame upon her ancestors at Chinese New Year before screaming ‘Why you no want nuts?!’ I explained the situation and she relented a little but still resembled a pissed-off dragon.
We limited ourselves to safe options like Italian eateries and supermarket sandwiches for the majority of the trip whilst Natalie could still get dumplings and the like for herself. In a cheating sort of manner, I did Asia-fy myself by trying sushi for the first time – with positive results. I also tried a Chinese dessert which resembled rice pudding without the rice so I guess I wasn’t entirely boring.
Regarding their alcohol, the frontrunner in terms of beer was San Miguel. Yet it wasn’t nice, safe, Spanish San Miguel, rather a sour Asian beer which was just about palatable if a little disappointing. They also sold unheard of brands such as ‘Blue Girl’ and ‘Golden Export’ whilst offering Carlsberg Special Brew as if it was normal to drink. The other great discovery was rice wine. This spirit made from, as the name suggests, rice, is more than a snip at around £1 for a small bottle and has a similar taste (and effect) to something like vodka. It’s fair to say it’s a sure-fire way to get hideous.
The Sights
When people come to Blankenburg, the best I can offer in terms of tourism is the big castle which overlooks the city and a load of former GDR buildings. Hong Kong however, is scattered with tourist attractions much like any cosmopolitan place. We actually did well to stick to the miniature itinerary Natalie had sketched before my arrival, completing a mixture of obvious touristy things with what you might call experiences.
We went for a stroll along the ‘Avenue of Stars’, their version of the Hollywood Walk of Fame, with the focal point being a statue of Bruce Lee doing some sort of kick. We took the Peak Tram up to the Hong Kong peak which offered great views of the harbour and the overwhelming amount of high-rise buildings. It also gave us the chance to take a scenic stroll around the top which became much more entertaining thanks to a woman performing stretches from start to finish, including a bizarre hip thrust at about halfway.
Although not strictly a tourist attraction, the nearby markets in Mong Kok were also of interest. We spent a lot of time strolling around the Ladies Market as scores of tiny Chinese women tried to sell us knock-off goods. In general though, a firm ‘I’m just looking’ would suffice whereas some poor customers found themselves being chased down the street by vendors clutching jade Buddhas. Another unusual scene was the Goldfish Market on the street next to our hostel building. Here we passed shop after shop selling a variety of pets. The most common were fish, where the market gets its name, ranging from huge tropical beauties to tiny sea monkeys. Although it was quite a spectacle, we couldn’t help feeling a little upset at the fish dangling in plastic bags with just a little water for company. Turtles were also popular, from the standard small tailed type to ones that looked like giant lizards who had just decided to wear a shell. There were also cats and dogs that looked very cute in their little outfits but also evoked sadness being trapped in small plastic boxes.
Then there was Macau. A short trip on the ferry for about an hour and you can get to the gambler’s paradise of the East. This former Portuguese colony plays host to several amazing hotel casinos and could be dubbed the Vegas of Asia. In fact, it actually takes more money than Vegas due to the masses of gambling-mad Chinese. In reality, we felt a bit indifferent towards the place. Our hopes of finding a tiny bit of Europe were extinguished as the place really couldn’t care less about Portugal save for their street names. We marvelled at the awesome casinos (they really were) but were devastated to be turned away for being too young! In the end we managed to get into one where Nat won and I lost on roulette – she claims strategy, I claim beginner’s luck. However, the whole day was slightly overshadowed by me suffering from dreadful food poisoning. I won’t go into detail but our tiny bathroom thing was never the same again.
Going to the Far East it seemed necessary to channel my inner Buddha. As such we paid a visit to the 10,000 Buddha monastery as well as some inner-city gardens filled with temples, waterfalls and sacred rocks. The monastery was very tranquil with the standard gongs and incense creating an authentic atmosphere. The main temple, filled with thousands of tiny Buddhas, was spectacular, with people coming in for a quick bow and to show some love to the chief Buddha. This sense of sacredness was juxtaposed with the hilarious Buddha statues situated on the way up. Their extra limbs and incredible facial expressions provided great entertainment, combined with several monkeys clambering all over them. Despite being attacked by unthinkably giant bugs, the trip was well worth it and added a touch of holiness to my stay.
Perhaps the highlight of my stay where sights are concerned came in the form of an afternoon hike to find a hidden stream. This gave us the opportunity to go on a sort of adventure and see a side of Hong Kong you’d be surprised existed, given the crowded city atmosphere it gives off. After a longish bus journey and a long walk through jungle-like terrain, we finally found the stream, waterfall and pool hidden through some shrubs. Despite having our private bathing area briefly invaded upon by a group of small children on some sort of adventure camp, we were still able to have a dip and a climb (which Natalie was awful at) and it is something I would certainly recommend to anyone who goes to Hong Kong.
The People
There is actually quite a variety of people in Hong Kong, putting an end to the myth that a lot of Asian people look very similar. It is true that the majority of people there are what you might call ‘Chinese looking’, but they still have their own particular styles.
For example, a lot of the older people do have an aura of peasantry about them but are probably filthy rich. They walk around all day at a disgustingly slow pace, munching on typical Chinese delicacies, not thinking about when they are going to next wash their faces. They would look more at home in a farming village on the mainland but at the same time, more often than not, have beaming smiles and are clearly loving living out their last few days in Hong Kong.
Then there are the younger folk. They are just too edgy for words. If you don’t have an amazing new phone, you might as well find a new country of residence as you will undoubtedly be shunned by society. Secondly, don’t even think about a normal haircut – a dash of blonde is preferred but anything along the lines of random shaven bits to a deformed mullet will suffice. As for clothing, men must wear tights in the manner of an Oriental Robin Hood and glasses, whether you need them or not, should be worn at all times.
If you are middle aged, you either wear a suit and make millions of dollars, run a street food stand (and by doing so have some of the bravest nostrils in the world) or take to the streets and join in a game of ‘The Tortoise and the Hare’ where everyone is the Tortoise.
In general, the people of Hong Kong are pleasant, no matter how slow they walk. They’re just all quite small.
Getting Back
Going against the usual custom, my return journey seemed to take much longer than when I was heading to Hong Kong. I put this down to the fact that I was leaving Nat as opposed to bouncing at the fact I was going to be seeing her soon. Or maybe it was just actually longer. Either way, the Hong Kong security made a huge fuss over my Epi-pens and wondered why I needed three. I explained that I had to arm myself against their best efforts to poison me. On the flight back, the man next to me smelt satisfactory and the French seemed to have bucked up their ideas in the space of seventeen days.
The two sources of embarrassment came in Germany. Being out of the country for a lengthy period meant my German was shoddier than usual at first. A gentleman was struggling with his bags and I felt it right that I offer my assistance. What I didn’t count on, however, was forgetting how to address him. ‘Herr’ didn’t sound right and I guess I should have just gone with ‘Sir’. In the end I went for ‘Kommandant’ which is just inappropriate (unless he was an actual Commandant). He looked at me puzzlingly and I aided him in silence.
The second event came at customs when a strapping bald man tapped me on the shoulder. He had ‘JUSTIZ’ emblazoned on his chest and was wearing rubber gloves. I didn’t know if he was called ‘Justin’ and they’d misspelled his name or if he was a kind of superhero. Either way, the rubber gloves unnerved me a bit. In the end he just wanted to search my bag as I’d come from Asia. All was well apart from a pack of novelty Bin Laden cards I’d purchased. These are never useful in an airport and Herr Justiz gave me a very damning look. However, there’s no law against owning a pack of playing cards with a former international terrorist on them so I walked free.
I’d had an amazing time. It was just how I’d expected it to be and I can’t wait to see Natalie again – even if Blankenburg is a tad different to the bright lights of Hong Kong. I didn’t die, saw some cool stuff and got to spend seventeen days with my girlfriend whom I hadn’t seen for nine weeks. In a weird way it was comforting to hear some German as I touched down in Hanover and seeing Gerhard’s little bearded face at the station felt homely. At the same time, however, I was already beginning to miss Hong Kong and Nat’s company.
blankenblog 
“Herr Kommandant”
this is bollcks mark, you made it to and from Prague solo